


A family affair

by cielecarlate



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom, Social Network (2010)
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Q is the prodigal son
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-25 04:57:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/635351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cielecarlate/pseuds/cielecarlate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eduardo and Mark have a son and he ends up shacking up with England's most-loved (or hated, depending on who you ask) secret agent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by [this ask](http://http://whishawful.tumblr.com/post/35751274748/can-we-talk-about-how-q-is-basically-the-son-of-mark/).

From a young age, Mark had taught his son how to code and hack, despite the occasional admonishment by Eduardo. “You’re going to turn him into a regular delinquent,” Wardo would joke. 

Laurie—officially, Laurence Aleixo Saverin-Zuckerberg—was their son; they could never be sure exactly who the father was, but he did have a penchant for getting into trouble, so Mark proudly declared his sperm to be pluckier than Eduardo’s and Eduardo took it with a fond smile and a familiar shake of the head. 

About a year after their quiet ceremony in Vancouver, Eduardo was reading the newspaper at the kitchen table when Mark stumbled down, not bothering to cover his mouth as he yawned. 

“Morning,” Wardo said brightly, glancing at his disheveled husband. “You don’t look as though you’d slept nine hours.” His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You didn’t get up to code, did you?”

Mark dropped into the chair beside him. “No, I didn’t. Look, Wardo…” He paused, fiddling with a loose thread on his shirtsleeve.

Wardo put the paper down and looked closer at the fidgeting man. He had an inkling Mark was actually _nervous_ , and Mark could be awkward, anxious, and frantic, but he was never nervous. Today he seemed to have trouble forming words. 

His hand was about to cover Mark’s when the slender, pale fingers grasped his own. “Wardo,” Mark began again. “Wardo, I—I think I’m ready for, for chi—uh, kids. I, I mean, that is, um, if you are.” He looked so absolutely helpless that Wardo wanted to laugh; instead, he leaned forward until their foreheads bumped gently and whispered his answer into Mark’s mouth. 

Both conveniently came down with the flu that day.

 

A week later, they were sitting down with their potential surrogate for an informal interview—well, Eduardo was chatting; Mark was deep in code-thought, contributing the odd “yes.” Her name was Lizzy—she didn’t want kids herself, but she would love to help a couple as lovely as them (Eduardo had threatened Mark the night before that he would lock his laptop away for 72 hours if he was unnecessarily rude). A contract was signed, sperm was provided (they decided to let nature make the choice), and for the next nine months, Lizzy became a permanent fixture in Mark and Wardo’s suddenly hectic life. There was a surprising amount to do in preparation for parenthood.  


And then at 3:14 on the morning of October 21, 1997, Lizzy gave birth to a healthy boy with dark curls and red, red lips, and Eduardo woke up to a little pink face next to his. He realized, as he held the swaddled child, that he and Mark were parents now and the nurse quickly took charge again as he burst into tears and flung himself over Mark. They took little Laurie home the next day and that was the beginning of a chaotic, more sleepless than usual period, where Wardo’s Portuguese lullabies filled the house and had Mark dozing off at work, and Mark managed to completely destroy bedtime stories by adding in bits about hacking and computers; where Mark refused to change diapers, and Wardo walked in one night on Mark about to feed the gurgling baby a Red Vine.

Mark hid a stash in his office when his domestic cache was unceremoniously thrown out. 

 

When Laurie’s ninth birthday came around, Eduardo finally relented and they bought him a state-of-the-art laptop (Mark insisted on the best) and the look on the boy’s face was worth it. He immediately started using it, and Eduardo had to pull Mark away to help with party set up. Later, he also had to drag Laurie away to say hello to his guests.

Then one day, when their son was 17, a tall man in an expensive-looking suit knocked on the door and informed a shocked Wardo and a smug Mark that their son had been selected for an elite group of individuals specializing in cyber-espionage. They called their son down and he heard the man out. He looked at his parents for a long time, not saying anything, and then he said yes.

The man took him away and Mark and Wardo didn’t see him for ten long years. Surprising and frustrating was that even Mark’s superlative hacking skills didn’t come up with anything.

 

Then on the fifth day of the eleventh year, Eduardo is, once again, reading the paper at the kitchen table (there seems to be a pattern), when he hears a quiet knock at their door. “We have a doorbell,” he muttered to himself as he got up, and he swung the door open to find a vaguely familiar-looking bespectacled man.  


“Papai,” the man says, eyes twinkling behind thick-rimmed lenses.

_Papai._ The word bounces around his head, looking for the right-sized gap—clearly, Mark has been playing Tetris around Wardo too much—and then Eduardo remembers the day Laurie got his first pair of glasses—it seemed he had inherited Wardo’s flair for style—and it all falls into place. “Laurie,” he gasped, and grabbed his son in a long, tight hug, tears leaking onto his shirt front. It was only when he pulled back to examine his now adult son that he saw the blond, older man, also in a suit, standing a little ways back.

“Q, aren’t you going to introduce me?” the man quipped, as he stepped forward to join them. 

“Why don’t you do it yourself, you seem something like an expert at it.” Q grinned at his very befuddled father.

The man reached out his hand, turning on the charm. “It’s Bond. James Bond.”

_What a Casanova_ , Wardo thought, mentally rolling his eyes. “Um. Hello Bond, James Bond.” He took the proffered hand suspiciously, making a note of the firm grip and the muscular form beneath the clothing. This man could snap his son in half and he didn’t like it. 

 

Laurie—Q? rolled his eyes. “James, this is my dad—one of my dads—Eduardo. Papai, this is James, my colleague—and since last April—my boyfriend,” he finished rather shyly. James looked amused.

Wardo eyed James. “Well, I hope you treat my son like the jewel he is.” He tries to sound menacing. James grins. Eduardo notices the faint scar peeking out from beneath his shirt collar.

“Believe me, Mr. Saverin, the last thing I’d want to do is hurt Q. After all, he _can_ do more damage at his laptop sitting in his pyjamas before his first cup of Earl Grey than I can do in a year in the field—or so he often reminds me.”

“Don’t worry, Papai.” Laurie snakes an arm around James’ waist. “Once, I was kidnapped and he destroyed the entire city block with his wrath.”

“Actually, I think that might have been the exploding pen you finally decided to give me.”

“Yes, because a single pen can flatten five 10-stories and everything in between.”

“When I’m using it, it can.”

“I’m sorry. You were kidnapped?” Eduardo thinks he may need an ear exam soon. Preferably in the next hour or so.

Laurie at least has the sense to look apologetic. “Sorry Papai, it’s a...long story…and I really can’t give you all the details…”

“Why not?” He’s indignant. “What is going on?”

“It’s probably confidential.” Mark’s voice cuts through the tension. He stops at the bottom of the stairs. Wardo glances at him but Mark doesn’t look surprised to see their son, so clearly he had been waiting to make his grand entrance. “Secret government work, I assume?”

“But of course.” Laurie brushes past Eduardo and greets his other father. “Hi Dad. Good to see you. Other dad is going rather berserk.”

“Excuse me,” Wardo says waspishly, turning away from his awkward staring contest with James, _“I can hear you.”_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laurie came home with James Bond in tow and Eduardo wants answers. _Now_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit short as it's sort of a filler/connector.

They finally got settled in the living room, which is eclectic, to say the least. Most of the furniture showed signs of use—some of the wooden pieces came from Eduardo’s family home in Brazil and others he’d acquired during his time in Singapore. The one anomaly was the very modern-looking chair in worn black leather. James threw a cursory glance at it on his way in, noting the excellent back and neck support it was meant to provide. He turned to Q, who was already looking back, eyebrows raised. “No bombs here, James.”

James sprawled (it made Q furious that he could look comfortable anywhere, whereas Q was sitting cross-legged and ramrod straight in his childhood home) next to him on the couch and played along. “You can never be too safe.”

Q scoffed. “Well then we might as well never leave the house. We should just stay in a windowless, concrete box.”

“You already spend too much time in your office.”

Q glared at him. “My presence is required there. You, on the other hand…”

“You don’t appreciate my gifts of Earl Grey?”

“You know I could easily have a minion take care of it.”

“I see. Would you also rather have a minion take care of your…other needs?”

An embarrassed cough brings them back to where they are—sitting too close, James’ hand on Q’s thigh, and Eduardo entering with drink and food. James is delighted to see Q turn a flaming red as he pulls away from James to face his dad.

“Er, Papai...”

“Let’s just forget I saw that, shall we?” Eduardo busies himself with coffee and tea on the table, giving Q time to regain his composure, though not before aiming a sharp jab at James’ ribs. When Eduardo looks up, James is wincing. He hides a smile as he lays out the guava cookies he’d bought only that morning (he’d been away on business and of course, Mark couldn’t be trusted to go grocery shopping.) It appeared that his son had no problem taking care of himself.

He (where the hell had Mark disappeared to?) poured tea for Laurie and coffee for James—his favourite Brazilian mix sent by his sister—and sat down, hands shaking slightly around his mug. “Cookie?” he asks to break the silence. “Laurie, you look terribly thin. Are you eating enough?” His face grows stern. “I hope you didn’t inherit your father’s habit of eating code instead of food.”

Q sighed, but took a cookie. “ _Papai_ , you _know_ I’m naturally skinny. I mean, look at you and dad. It’s clearly in my genes.” 

“Believe me, Mr. Saverin,” said James, “it’s not like I haven’t tried.” 

“Yes, James turned out to be a surprisingly good cook—not as amazing as you, of course,” he adds hastily, seeing the expression on his father’s face, “but good.” Having placated his father, he adds, “I actually gave him a few of your recipes to try—I’ve really missed your cooking.”

Eduardo was torn between rage at this stranger having access to his family recipes and affection for his son. He will kindly concede Laurie being Mark’s biological child as he seems to have the same frustrating effect on Wardo. But though he’s anxious, he’s also determined. 

“You missed the cooking but not the cook? Where have you been all these years, Laurie? Your dad and I have been worried sick, thinking we handed you over to your death! Do you know how hard it’s been, wondering where you were, how you were doing, _what_ you were doing?” It comes out in a rush and he’s left staring at them, angry, waiting for answers. _“And why does he keep calling you Q?”_

Mark ambles in in the middle of the tense silence and helps himself to coffee and a cookie. “I hacked every database in existence, Laurie. I couldn’t find you.” He says it like he’s commenting on a particularly tricky piece of code, but they all pick up on the undercurrent of frustration. 

Wardo leans into him automatically and squeezes his eyes shut, for once, hoping the man in front of him is not his son, but an imposter—it would be less painful than realizing that his son didn’t care. He hears a quick exchange of whispers from across the table and after a pause, someone clears his throat. 

 

He opens his eyes. It’s Laurie. His eyes are wet and Eduardo’s anger falters for a split second.

**Author's Note:**

> I use past and present tense alternately-- I hope it's not distracting!


End file.
